Going To Hell
by OnTheWildside
Summary: A collection of short stories containing Tig Trager. Mostly AU smut-shots based on the many stories mentioned in the show and a few originals by myself. Completely PWP. Rated M for explicit smut containing dark fetishes and foul language. NOW ACCEPTING REQUESTS!
1. Redwood Original

**I'm trying something a bit different with this story. In fact, it isn't a story at all, but a collection of short stories containing Tig Trager. The bulk of it will be AU smut-shots based on the many stories mentioned in the show, a few will be originals from yours truly. **

**I've compiled a nice list after re watching the entire series, but if anything comes to mind or you have a particular Tig-fantasy, feel free to message me. I'll give credit accordingly for anything I use. **

**Warnings will be posted before each chapter because, well, it's Tig. I'll also try and give a time frame as these may come off jumbled and in no particular order. **

**As for this chapter, language and explicit smut follows. This is set just before season one starts.**

* * *

_2008_

It had been a long, rough ride. Tig was more than ready to get back to his dorm room with a cold one and sleep this one off. He and Bobby parked by the wall and stretched on woozy legs before walking to the clubhouse door.

Without looking, Tig made his way to the bar, opening the cooler to pull out two tall bottles and popped them on the opener behind the bar. He looked up to Bobby to hand him his brew, then noticed what the stout man was staring at... the two gashes on the leather couch. Half-Sack lay between them head on one of their chests as they pretended to laugh at something he said.

"New recruits?" Tig huffed.

"Naw, man. You recognize Sarah, right?" Bobby muttered before heaving himself up on the bar stool. He was talking about the brunette with the tanned skin, the one bulging out of the skin-tight leather. "She cut her hair or some shit."

"I mean Red." Tig said, leaning against the bar. One hand went to his crouch casually as the other held his beer. His clear blue eyes were on the newbie, with the fire engine red hair dusting just past her shoulders. He had set plans for the night when he entered the club house, but those suddenly became negotiable.

"That's Rob's daughter from the Devil's Tribe*." Bobby smiled, taking a long pull from the neck of his bottle, emptying it and placing it on the bar.

"Shit... She grew up."

"I suspect that happens naturally." Bobby scoffed. "I'm turning in for the night. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, brother." He laughed, dropping off the stool to walk down the hall of dorms.

Once he heard the door shut behind Bobby, Tig chugged the rest of his cold one and slammed the bottle down on the bar. "GRUNT!"

"Shit..." the young prospect shuttered, hopping up to his feet. "Yes, sir?"

"Time to turn in!" Tig yelled, standing up straighter, both hands on his belt now.

The prospect hesitated, looking back to the girls on the couch who were now silent.

"NOW!" Tig insisted. "Clear out!"

The girls got up, set to follow Sack to his room for the night.

"Not you, Red. You stay put."

She froze in place, feet still beside the couch, watching her friend follow the prospect to the hallway until she couldn't see them anymore.

"You just get to town, doll?" Tig asked, taking a few long strides closer.

"Last night." She nodded, quietly.

"You're Rob's girl?" She sighed, looking off to the side as he came closer. "I heard about what happened to your father. He was a good man." Tig was now standing in front of her, brushing a bright red curl from her eyes. They were dark green and heavily rimmed. She had a little star shaped diamond underneath her right eye. On a whim, he brushed his thumb over it gently. It was a piercing. The action caused her to flutter her lashes and look up at him. "What's your name, beautiful?"

"Vega*." She whispered.

"Vega?" He asked quietly, close to her ear.

"Like the star." She said smartly.

"Star Girl..." He muttered, kissing her jaw lightly. "Tell me, baby, you let anyone else in those tight leather pants yet?" He trailed a hand up her thigh only to let it linger over her zipper, feeling the heat radiating from her core. It wasn't that he was adverse to someone else's leftovers, he just liked picking off the fresh ones a bit better, ruining them for his brothers. Unfortunately that meant, more often then not, that the girls head for the hills after their first night in the club.

"I didn't spend the night here, if that's what you mean."

"What about tonight, then? You looking to earn yourself a bed for the night?"

"Actually," she slipped by him, walking over to the giant doors of the chapel. She stopped in front of the wall beside it, the wall of mug shots. "I'm more interested in what's in here." She pointed to the doors.

When she turned, he could see the cuts in the back of her tee shirt. They opened up revealing colorful shooting stars covering the bulk of her back. He found himself wanting to bend her over so he could kiss and bite every single one. "No, babe. No bitches at the table. You should know better. Your dad was VP, right?" He came up behind her, placing a hand on her neck, one on her lower stomach.

She nodded, answering his question silently. "What a shame. This is you?" She pointed to his mug shot near the top of the wall. It was a few years old, but it was unmistakably him.

"Guilty." He growled, grinding his tight jeans against her ass, nudging her with his hard cock through the fabric of their pants.

"Tig Trager." She breathed his name out effortlessly. "I've heard about you."

"Yeah, baby?" He smirked into her hair, urging her chin up to look at him. "Your daddy warn you about me?" She snapped away from him, out of his grasp, leaning her back against the giant wooden doors. She looked at him with sad doe eyes. "Too soon?"

"Sergeant." She said, looking at his right breast, the patch proudly sewn over his heart. She gave him a mocking 'About Face' followed by a playful salute. "The Tig I heard stories about wouldn't hesitate to unlock this door."

In one long stride, Tig boxed Vega in, pressing her into the door. One hand pressed flat against the wood, just beside her face, the other lingered on the door handle. "I hate to disappoint such a pretty face." He growled before sealing their lips together.

She melted at his touched, nearly sliding down the length of the door to puddle at his feet. The door opening caught her off guard, causing her to stagger a bit as she lost the support behind her. She steadied herself once inside the dark room and Tig closed the door behind them and leaned against the door, keeping the lights off. The two windows behind Clay's seat let enough light in for him to still see her eyes light up as she took in the room.

"You realize if we get caught in here I'll lose my kutte."

"Yeah? And I'm pretty sure I'll get kicked out." She crossed her arms over her torso and gripped the lower hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. She tossed the shirt on a nearby chair, Chibs chair, and flipped her hair. Tig noticed that the stars over her back continued on to dwindle out over her right collarbone. That wasn't all. On her right ribcage, she had a large tattoo of a black and blue Harley Davidson Knucklehead. A red ribbon weaved over the top of it. "Daddy's Little Girl" it read in black script.

"This is where you sit, right?" She motioned to the chair to the right of the gavel. She ran her hand over the back before pushing the chair out.

"Yeah, that's about right. You want me to fuck you in the chair, doll?"

"Not exactly." She smirked. She kicked off her heels and undid her tight leather leggings, pulling them down her long, lean legs. She placed both hands on the redwood, pushing herself up so her ass rested on the table above Tig's place at the table. "I wanna be able to see the reaper." She looked over to her left, trailing a black fingernail over the bloody scythe carved into the wood. She shot those gorgeous eyes at him, smirking. "And the kutte."

"That so?" He chuckled, pushing himself up, hands still clutching his belt buckle. He had to give it to her, this is probably the hottest thing her had done in months. Clay would have his leather if anyone found out, but who would tell? It was a few hours until dawn. If things went well, no one would catch them. The forbidden element was enough of a turn on to have Tig already close to the edge with out even touching this half naked creature laying herself in front of him. This night was definitely looking up.

"Are you backing out, Sarge?" She hummed the question, unclasping her bra only to lay it over the back of Chibs chair. She kept one arm over her breasts for a few seconds until Tig convinced his feet to move, pushing his chair out of the way so he could stand between her legs.

He took her hand, grazing his rough fingertips over her breast to clutch her hand, guiding it to the growing bulge aching between his legs. He noticed then that her nipples were pierced, making his mouth water. "It look like I'm backing out, baby?"

In response, she squeezed harder, causing him to groan, falling over her on the table. She moaned as her bare back hit the hard wood table. Tig's hands fell beside her head and he kissed her, bruisingly rough. Her hands rose up, tangling in his hair, one wrapped around the collar of his kutte.

He kissed a trail down her jaw, pausing to bite her pulse point. He lapped circles around the tiny stars on her clavicle before his mouth found her budding nipples. He suckled them into his mouth, tugging the studs there with his teeth before continuing down. Once he reached her turquoise colored panties with the skull and crossbones over her mound, he hooked his thumbs under the cotton and lace but she grabbed his wrists, steadying his hands. "You any good with that knife?" She asked playfully, nodding to the large bowie knife strapped to his leg.

"Let's find out." He countered, going straight for it. Once unsheathed, he took little time to slip it between her hip and her panties, cutting each side just over her hipbone. The ruined fabric fell off underneath her and was quickly forgotten. Tig stood up straight, watching her squirm below him.

His hands rested on his belt buckle before he popped the clasp and opened his jeans. He didn't bother pushing them down his hips, he just reached into his boxers to whip out his hard cock. She keened her body towards him, rolling her nipples in her fingers. She was begging for it. Tig gripped the base of his cock firmly in one hand. The other he placed on her groin to hold her down.

Eagerly, he used his thumb to nudge her folds open. He barely skimmed her clit, causing her to hum. Tig used the velvety head of his cock to skim through her slick cunt, up and down, brushing her clit on every pass as he coated himself in her sweet liquid. With no warning, he plunged into her, filling her until his balls slapped against her and she drew her legs up so her feet rested on the table.

"Fuck, Sarge." She groaned. Music to Tig's ears. He took a few moments to revel in the feel of her adjusting around her, her cunt swallowing him. He withdrew slowly, only to dive back in.

His hands closed around her folded thighs and pulled her closer to the edge of the table. Her head lolled to the side, intent on the reaper as Tig found a perfect pace between rhythmic pounding and jack hammering. "Eyes on me, babe." He instructed, gripping her chin to turn her head. His hand lingered on her neck.

His thumb nudged her clit in time with his thrusts as he sped up his thrusts. Vega wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer so her hands could clutch his kutte. Her fingers tangled in the leather and he felt the fluttering begin, her muscles contracting to strangle his cock. "That's it, baby." He growled.

"Sarge..." She purred, her head rolling back and her hips jerking upward. "This is so fucking hot. Jesus. I'm so close."

"Come on, baby. Don't hold back." He urged. "Come on my dick. Daddy's little fucking slut."

Her whole body convulsed as she came, clamping around him like a hot, wet, tight vice. He could feel every nerve ending catch fire as his balls drew up and he shot himself into her. He fell forward, catching his body on his arms beside her shoulders as they both came down from their high. Her thumbs lovingly stroked the soft, buttery leather as she caught her breath.

"Fuck, I think I love you." He chuckled as he withdrew his softening member from her. He tucked himself back into his jeans, not bothering to redo them. "You definitely earned that bed tonight, doll."

* * *

Chapel filled up quickly after Clay made the announcement. Tig took his usual seat, scanning over the room to make sure it was perfect like he had left it the night before. He made sure to fix the chairs and move the gavel just so.

Star Girl left early that morning once Clay pounded on the door of Tig's dorm. She didn't protest, just got up, pulled on her jeans, and left.

Clay pounded the gavel and Tig kind of blacked out. All he could think about was how Vega's ass sat where he rested his hands, how her body contorted as he fucked her over Clay's position at the redwood, one of the most sacred symbols of the club. Tig had managed to defile that too.

"Final order of business." Clay said, staring at Tig. "I found these on my seat this morning." He held up a pair of turquoise and black panties, ruined by a knife. Tig struggled to control his thoughts. Simply breathing wrong could give him away. "Now, I don't have to tell you morons that there are no bitches in chapel. I don't know whose these are, but if I find out..." He looked pointedly between Tig and Happy. "I'll have your fucking leather. Church dismissed."

* * *

*SOA's Indian Hills, Nevada charter that gets patched over in season one, episode four

*Vega is the brightest star in the constellation Lyra, the fifth brightest star in the night sky


	2. Crossing the Border

**Hello, lovely ladies! I know, I know. There are no excuses for being MIA for so long. (Two months, but whose counting?) Let's just say that I have been on a much needed vacation. My hope is to update more frequently, provided the muse plays nicely.**

**This chapter is set just before season one begins, right after the last chapter. In the show's pilot, the Mayans burn down SAMCRO's gun warehouse, killing two female illegal immigrants that were hiding underneath the building. Later, Tig reveals to Clay that he had snuck them into the house and that he had been *ahem* _intimate_ with the pair of them. I wanted to expand on this idea. It took far too long to make this concept seem plausible for me, trying to balance between nurturing Tig and down and dirty Tig. **

**At the risk of sounding all preachy, I would like to clear a few things up that perhaps were not clear in the first chapter. This is a **_**Tig**_** story. It is rated M for a reason. I do not force my own personal kinks or desires on anyone else. By all means, if you are uncomfortable with what I write, click the tiny 'X' in the top right hand corner. I _will_ try to be more explicit in my warnings before each chapter to prevent any further confusion. **

**That all being said, this story contains language, sexual content, and a few offensive racial slurs. Nothing in this is my own belief. If you are easily offended by any of these things, I suggest you turn away now.**

**I fear I may be a tad bit rusty, but I hope you all get some enjoyment out of this. I've missed you all so!**

* * *

_2008_

"Fucking grunt work." Tig snickered, flicking the fading butt of his cigarette out the open window of the matte black van as he pulled up to the warehouse in the hills. He made a mental note not to piss Clay off anymore.

Fucking that broad in Chapel was one of his worst ideas. It also happened to be one of the hottest experiences of his life. Though it couldn't be proved exactly who had disgraced the reaper, Clay took it upon himself to punish the Sergeant at Arms by giving him "light duty". That translated into temporarily losing his kutte and having to transport illegal arms over state lines by himself.

He slammed the door when he jumped from the cabin of the van, relishing the feel of his aching joints stretching and popping. It wasn't exactly as gratifying as clambering off his Dyna after a long days ride, but the feeling was similar enough to make him feel nostalgia.

He walked around the van slowly, wrapping his gloved palm around the handle of the back door and turning it slowly.

Crates. Stacks and stacks of wooden crates, neatly organized in the back of the vehicle. "How the fuck..." He muttered, running his leather coated hand over his weathered face.

He contemplated calling Juice, maybe Jax. There was no way he was going to make clean work of unpacking this load before daylight.

He pulled his prepaid from his back pocket, flipping it open with his thumb. The screen illuminated the lines in his face, causing him to squint in order to focus on the tiny font of the home screen. "No fucking service…" He grumbled. "That's just fucking great…"

He contemplated taking the van back to Charming, if only to drop by the club house and get some help when his ears perked up at an enticing noise. It was faint, barely a whimper. And it was distinctly feminine. He realized, almost immediately, that the noise was echoing off the walls of the back of this van.

Tig wouldn't admit it, not in front of Clay, but instead of watching the Irishmen pack the truck with firearms, he had chosen to frequent the pub across the street where he indulged himself in a pint and struck out twice with the waitresses.

Wasting little time, Tig propped a leg up on the tail end of the van and used it as leverage to heave the rest of his body into the vehicle. His back hunched to conserve his height. He maneuvered through the huge wooden crates until he could see the far corners of the van. Crouched in the back corner , wedged between boxes and crates, was not only one woman, but two, cowering and clutching each other nervously. Upon seeing him, the women started crying uncontrollably.

"Hey, hey, hey..." Tig said, his voice calm and soothing, "I'm not gonna hurt you." Shit. He hated to see a woman cry, even if he couldn't clearly make out their faces in the shrouding darkness. "Why don't you ladies come on out?"

"Por favor, señor, no haga que nos duele! Nos obligaron. Por favor, que nos iban a matar!" One of the women spoke out. "Por favor, señor. Por favor!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." He immediately regretted not learning Spanish. He wished he had brought Juicey along. "Come on, sweethearts. I'm not gonna hurt you." He saw the terror on their faces as they spotted the knife strapped to his jeans. "Fuck..." He muttered, unclipping the straps, he removed the knife from his thigh before eliciting a scream from the women. "No, no, no. Look, I'm putting it down." He held the knife gingerly between two fingers and placed it on top of the nearest crate. "See? Its gone."

Next, he reached behind him. Under his hoodie, beneath the waist band of his jeans, he removed his Glock gently. His action was followed by another scream and streams of loud, ugly tears. "All gone." He promised, patting his palms over the expanse of his body. "See? All clear." Slowly, he took a few steps backwards. "Now, come on out." He cooed, making a come hither motion with his fingers to put meaning behind his foreign tongue. "Its safe. I promise. I wouldn't hurt a fly."

He waited in silence for a few minutes. Patience was never his strong point. He felt his fingers itch, wishing he had a cigarette perched between them to calm his nerves. He was tense. This whole situation wasn't exactly improving on his night.

He wondered exactly what the women were doing in the van. He figured they probably weren't supposed to be there. They most likely ran from whatever hell they came from, unknowingly opening themselves up to a whole other world of torment.

A twinge of guilt shook his conscience when he thought about exactly what they might be willing to do in exchange for a place to stay. He figured he could hide them here for a few days, at least. No one ever came here, save for himself and Jax. Clay could never be bothered to make the trip out here.

He could have these girls all to himself. Able bodies that he could probably persuade into bending to his will if he could get past this whole language barrier. He would get a few good days out of this deal if he played his cards right. If the girls got caught here, that very language barrier would be his alibi. He could get off by saying they were squatters and that would be it. He would be completely off the hook.

He was stirred from his thoughts by the rustling and soft padding of legs and feet. Slowly, the women exited the van, jumping onto the ground in front of Tig's feet. "Hola." He laughed at his own remedial Spanish.

They stood like statues in stone silence for what seemed like ages. Tig took took this time to study the women. Both were obviously Mexican; tan skin, dark hair, dark, almond shaped eyes. They were average height and build, but one was obviously taller then the other. They appeared to be in their late twenties. They looked similar, possibly sisters, but, then again, all beaners look alike. They weren't classically pretty, but Tig wasn't terribly picky.

He considered their situation for a moment, how terrifying it must be for them. They didn't seem to understand much English, probably had no idea where they were, and were stuck with him. Tig: Sergeant at Arms of the Sons of Anarchy, Redwood Original. There was a good reason he had become Sergeant. Actually, a few good reasons. The main one being that he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, no matter what the situation.

All things considered, he imagined what would result of him helping these girls. There would be no connection between him and them if they were caught. He imagined how grateful would they be if he helped them, what they would be willing to do to show their gratitude.

His cock stirred, straining against his zipper as he thought about how long it had been since he'd had a woman. In retrospect, it had been just over a week since his romp with Red. He'd struck out twice tonight. He needed it. Yes, these girls would definitely do.

"You girls wanna come inside?" He asked, instantly feeling like an idiot. They would never understand him. He looked around, trying to find a way to convey his intentions without words.

_Food_, he thought. Everyone understands food. He remembered Bobby usually kept a stash in the glove compartment of the van for "safe keeping." For once being a fat fuck may actually pay off.

He held up a finger, motioning to the front of the van. Slowly, strategically, he walked around the front of the van and opened the passenger door. He popped the compartment under the dash and, low and behold, he found Twinkies. Four of them. _Perfect._. He snatched up the yellow sponge cakes and quickly made his way back to the quivering girls. Now they were holding hands, looking down at their feet. Maybe they were thinking about running. At this point, that may be their safer option.

"Here." Tig offered, holding out his hands. Their eyes lit up at the prospect of food. Tig smirked. His plan was working. "Come on inside." He started walking towards the front door, dangling the plastic packaging out in front of the women as he went.

They shared a sideways glance, a quick moment of indecision before following, slow and skittish, towards the door behind the aging motorcycle enthusiast and the promise of nourishment and shelter.

Triumphant, Tig twisted the doorknob and walked into the old house. It was dark and smelled slightly moldy, like old houses left long uninhabited often did. The floor was littered with stray pieces of straw and there were a few empty oil drums and wooden crates serving as furnishings.

He led the girls into the room, stopping short in front of one of the crates and sank down, using it as a makeshift chair. He placed the Twinkies in his lap and motioned for the Latinas to have a seat beside him.

They exchanged glances, wondering what it is they were to do. Then, finally, they sunk down, deciding to sit on the floor, graciously at Tig's feet.

He chuckled quietly to himself at the unintended meaning to the gesture. He watched as the women looked down at their knees, placing their hands palm down on their thighs.

"Hungry?" Tig's deep voice bellowed in the empty room. He picked up the plastic wrapped cake. The noise of crinkling plastic was amplified in the silence. The wrapping ripped easily and instantly the sugary scent of pastry and cream met Tig's nostrils. The girl's eyes shot upward, visibly salivating and the temptation.

Tig took the Twinkie in his hand, offering the cake over to the taller woman. Without hesitation she wrapped her lush, pink lips around the girth of the cake, engulfing it up until her lips brushed Tig's fingertips. She froze, clamping her jaw and breaking the spongey yellow morsel, withdrawing on herself, embarrassed.

"Good, huh?" Tig smirked, taking what was left of the cake for himself, cleaning the cream off his thumb. He wanted so badly to brush the corner of her mouth where she left a bit of white lingering. He felt as though such an intimate gesture would scare the girl, and so he refrained from his first instinct.

The shorter girl with the doe eyes made a soft whimpering noise, licking her lips longingly. Tig shook himself from his fantasies to open a second Twinkie, this time a bit faster, and offered it to the other girl. Without blinking, her mouth engulfed the entire snack and she ended up nipping the pads of his calloused fingers with her teeth.

"Hungry, are we?" He scoffed, remembering they still had no clue what he was talking about. He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity and set forth to open the third package. Instead, he decided to hand it over to the first girl, the tall one. She opened it eagerly, overzealously stuffing the cake in her mouth whole.

Tig took the last package and handed it over to the other girl and she did the same, tentatively licking each finger off when she was done. Tig then wiped his hands off on his dark jeans. His bright eyes flit between the two of them, watching them carefully for physical cues. He was hoping the language barrier wasn't going to hinder the rest of his night.

He regarded them in their quiet beauty. Things were much simpler this way, no words to complicate matters. They could rely on their primal instincts and skip all of the formal niceties of societal pressure, not that Tig ever really conformed in that respect. Sometimes it was nice to lose control.

The shorter one with the soft black curls licked her lips clean. Tig saw this as an act that was slightly more sensual than it probably should have been. He noticed her eyelashes bat and her teeth sink into the pink flesh of her lower lip. He was probably imagining it in his buzzed state, he reasoned.

He began weighing his options. He wasn't sure whipping his dick out in front of these foreigners was the best idea. In fact, that may end very badly and painfully on his part.

Frustrated, his head lulled back and he clamped his eyes shut. He had a few precious hours until sunrise and he needed to unpack that fucking truck or he may never get his kutte back. Today had just been a shit storm of bad luck.

His eyes shot open when he felt hands, soft, dainty hands on his thighs, reaching for his fly. He looked down between his legs. The smaller of the two women was undoing his jeans. When his fly was undone, her nails scraped his stomach and trailed through his chest hair underneath his hoodie.

She watched him carefully, eyes never leaving his as her hands trailed back down his chest, dipping into his boxers to wrap around the base of his rigid cock. He hissed through his teeth at the contact and thrust his hips, pushing himself into her hand.

He closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of moist heat on his cock as her warm tongue began licking up and down both sides of his fully erect dick, making him want to spew his load right then. He leaned up, his eyes locking with the shy girl's as her friend's lips wrapped around him. He nodded, calling her over. She seemed to be intent with voyeur for the night, but Tig would much rather have her join in the fun.

Begrudgingly, she leaned forward on her knees, placing a hand on Tig's knee. Her friend shifted her weight, allowing them both room to settle at the man's feet. Without losing contact, the exhibitionist of the two gave the other girl a look, almost pleading her to join. Tig watched her resolve melt before her lips parted and she gave in.

"That's it, sweet heart." He groaned as now two tongues encircled the spongey, rigged flesh of his member.

He lost himself, the feeling of their mouths on him, the saliva leaving trails along the length of his solid cock. They looked up at him through long lashes, eager to fulfill his every fantasy.

"Fuck. Muy bueno." He thrust against them and they responded by licking him faster and harder, sucking hard on his head as their bottom teeth scraped the underside of his dick.

Suddenly, tall one took all of him into her mouth, relaxing her throat until his tip tickled the back of it while the other chola tongued his balls, suckling the velvety skin until she had first one of his balls in her cheeks, then alternated between the two until his knees were shaking and he was grateful for the wooden shipping crate that he was plopped down on.

His hands found dark curls, gripping either side of one of the girl's face, forcing himself down her throat as he lost control and came in hot spurts. She managed to swallow most of his spunk before she sat back on her heels. He watched some of his come run down the sides of her chin. She shorter of the two, the one with the soft curls, jealously licked her friend's chin clean before they sat back on their hands and regarded Tig as he came down from his high.

"Fuck. Good job, senoritas." Tig huffed in finality. He took a moment to collect himself before he was on his feet, tucking himself back into his tight jeans and running a hand through his tangled curls. It suddenly dawned on him that he would have a lot of work to do tonight, unpacking the truck, and he hadn't even started yet.

"Yeah, yeah. Mi casa es su casa." He laughed off what little Spanish he did know before walking off toward the front door.

* * *

**Translations: **

_Por favor, señor, no haga que nos duele! Nos obligaron. por favor, que nos iban a matar!_ – Please sir, dont hurt us! They forced us. Please, they were going to kill us!


End file.
